


Dues to Pay

by irisbleufic



Series: Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed [9]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aquariums, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Women, Body Image, Body Worship, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/F, Gossip, Hiding Medical Issues, Inspired by Music, LGBTQ Character of Color, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Character of Color, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Radio, Secret Relationship, Showers, Sneaking Around, Stress Relief, Talking Shit About Your Asshole Employers Is Fun, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10991316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: Oh, it's only been pain loving you—you're my dues to pay.[Yetanotherbonus ficlet, this one from Caroline Fowler's POV; it's set the night of the Dyson job inWYFIR #22.]





	Dues to Pay

The best thing about getting home from a job this beat, Caroline decided, was that you might just fall asleep in the shower. The worst thing was that you’d wake up when the water went cold. She dumped her keys and gun-belt on the desk, reaching to tap the aquarium glass with her nail.

“There he is,” Caroline crooned, wiggling her finger as Jersey followed it. “Mommy’s little asshole. Hey, _no_. You get fed once a day, mornings only.”

Jersey flared at her, the pink of his gills a startling contrast to the iridescent blue of his eyes. The dude at PetSmart had said something about white bettas with calico patterning being rare.

“Go to sleep,” Caroline said, turning off the tank light, and then flipped the switch on the wall.

Stripping out of her uniform, she tossed the pile of clothes at the foot of her bed and set her shoes just beneath the edge of it. The job included her wardrobe, and then some. 

On her way into the bathroom, she stepped out of her undies and wrestled her way out of the black sports bra she’d been wearing for compression during rounds of injections. She grimaced at her reflection, pressing her fingers along the raised, needle-pricked purple of her scars. 

Surgery two years gone, and she wasn’t healing properly. Steroids once a month, ten shots each side. She felt so sick the days they gave it to her she couldn’t eat. Funny, if you thought about it. Breast cancer wasn’t going to kill her, but the cigarettes might.

“Just quit, dumb-ass,” Caroline told her reflection, sniffing as she pushed her hair back to examine a spot on her forehead. Not a freckle, not a zit. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

She stumbled over the side of the tub and hit the power-button on her waterproof radio hanging from the caddy. It was old-school, and her mom had totally ordered it from QVC last Christmas, but whatever. She liked the switch between AM and FM, the slow, static-laced sweep of the dial until she landed on either something she recognized or something that sounded viable.

_The moon sits above the streets,_  
_echoes beats of lonely city feet_  
_as my heart sits inside its cage,_  
_talks across the page_  
_where songs for you are made._

“So ten years ago,” she muttered, adjusting the water to her liking. “Fuckin’ A,” she added approvingly, launching into the first chorus as she slathered her short hair with shampoo.

_Oh, it's only been pain loving you—_  
_you're my dues to pay._  
_I hunt down the night_  
_that brought you here_  
_and made you this way,_  
_'cause I just can't wait…_

Caroline had never exactly been a malingerer when it came to showers, although good music and better company—or, failing that, a nap—could often persuade her to stay. She yawned.

Fifteen years of smoking had wrecked her soprano range, and the day’s strain— _damn_ , did her boss have questionable taste in men—had taken its toll. She hummed her way through the next verse and chorus while she scrubbed herself with a washcloth and freesia shower gel.

Most of the tattoos littering her arms from shoulders to wrist were beginning to fade. She’d done an eighteen-month stint the first time, and six months the second time. She’d gotten bored.

The first time was when she’d met Viola Aragon, and her life had never been the same since.

_As I wake up, I turn to put on my make-up,_  
_trying to shake up the shape that I'm in._  
_As I stumble in and out of bars,_  
_we talk of fancy cars_  
_and wounded love scars._

_Oh, it's only been pain loving you—_  
_you're my dues to pay._  
_I hunt down the night_  
_that brought you here_  
_and made you this way,_  
_'cause I just can't wait…_

Turning off the water, Caroline yanked back the shower curtain, instantly met with a towel being shoved in her face. Inches from her nose, not three feet away on the rack. She screamed, not at all reassured by the visual input suggesting Vee’s blue hair and worried hazel eyes.

“ _Christ_!” she yelled, snatching the towel. “Can't you just knock like a normal person?”

Vee shrugged, watching Caroline get down to business drying herself. She nodded at the scars.

“They’re looking flatter,” she said, almost an apology. “Less painful, too?” she asked with hope.

In the background, the shitty shower radio crooned on, infuriatingly oblivious to its pivotal role.

_All along, this candle burns for you—_  
_all along, keeps coming back for you._  
_All along, this candle burns for you,_  
_you, you, you, you…_

Furious, Caroline ignored the question. She let her towel drop into the tub and stepped out of it, getting right up in Vee’s face. She was grateful they were only a centimeter apart in height.

“Why do we do it?” she demanded, yanking Vee’s leather lapels, roughly biting Vee’s lower lip.

“You mean pretend we aren't what we are?” Vee ventured, returning the kiss, slightly breathless.

“Yeah, jerk,” Caroline said, looping her damp arms around Vee’s neck, gratefully sagging as Vee’s arms came up to support her. “Fifteen years. On-again, off-again. Through thick and thin, prison and medical. More on now than off. I don’t give a fuck, but you do. _Why_?”

“Because, in this town, if you wear your beloved on your arm?” said Vee, pained, pursing her lips. “You're a sitting duck. Or your beloved is. Somebody had better tell Penguin that.”

“Somebody better tell them both a lotta things, but it ain't gonna be me,” Caroline replied, tugging Vee out of the bathroom by her right wrist. “Already tried. They don't fuckin' listen.”

The radio went on, scratchy, as if the battery or some internal mechanism were on its last legs.

_Oh, it's only been pain loving you—_  
_you're my dues to pay._  
_I hunt down the night_  
_that brought you here_  
_and made you this way,_  
_'cause I just can't wait…_

“Barb and Tabs keep telling them how it is during those meetings,” Vee agreed, penitently docile as Caroline led her over to the bed. “They keep telling boss, anyway. He _especially_ doesn't listen. Thinks he can keep Nygma tied up safe in his bed.”

“There's nothin' safe about what Mr. N's doing in his spare time. In _their_ spare time,” Caroline amended, “given Mr. C is always along for the ride. God, I wish they'd stop.” She plonked herself down on the mattress, scooting back toward the wall so that Vee could join her. “Just get back to the usual business. See, it’s like—offin’ Tommy and Nicky? That, I didn't mind. Ignorant fucks, both of 'em. Mr. C woulda got them out of the way sooner or later,” she went on, propping herself up on one elbow as Vee shed her jacket on the floor and pulled off her beaten black Docs. “It's all this...killin' smart people and shit. All because of what they said in the papers. I mean, hell, everyone’s weighed in. Who's next—Valerie Vale?”

“Nah. Boss likes her, and so does Nygma,” Vee said, sounding relieved, down to her bra, tight black jeans, and blue footies. “She might've been the one who lit a fire under Hearst when she published what she got from Searle, but that was an accident. Anyway, look, they got boss out of office, and Nygma helped. He's pretty clever. Just needs a shorter leash.”

“They pay me so much I _worry_ about him,” Caroline groaned, burying her face between Vee’s breasts as soon as her bra hit the floor. She tongued at the mole-removal scars on Vee’s sternum, appreciating the hum it got her. “Mr. C wants me to help stage an intervention.”

“Depends on how much overtime he’s offering,” Vee mused. “Maybe I’ll get in on it, too.”

“Listen, you’re not the one drivin’ Miss Riddler’s sparkly green ass all over Gotham,” Caroline sighed, settling on her haunches between Vee’s thighs as Vee sprawled back against the pillows. “Tonight was the last job. _Supposedly_. For my money, he’s gonna pull the wool over Mr. C’s eyes and go after those nosy cops next. Gee Cee fuckin’ Pee Dee.”

“Good time to do it, too,” said Vee, darkly. “Gordon’s still out of town. Bullock’s a clown.”

“Yeah,” Caroline agreed, impatiently unfastening Vee’s jeans, “but the new guy, Fox? Isn’t.”

 _Baby, baby, baby, when you_  
_hold me the way you hold me—_  
_baby, baby, baby, just hold me_  
_the way you hold me._

“Let’s not talk about work anymore,” said Vee, softly framing Caroline’s face. “Please.”

“Okay, baby,” Caroline whispered, hand splayed low against Vee’s warm belly. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Have a listen to the song playing on Caroline's radio: **_[Dues to Pay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YsmCT-bc8q8)_** , By Leona Naess


End file.
